


A Little Unsteady

by andthelightbulbclicks



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthelightbulbclicks/pseuds/andthelightbulbclicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of tumblr prompts about anything and everything to do with Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hogwarts To-Go

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking prompts to get back in the groove, and Bellarke is my current muse, so I figured this would be a good place to start. Any prompt fills can be found here.
> 
> Title from X Ambassadors.
> 
> prompt: i forgot to finish my history of magic homework, so i took a puking pastille to get out of it, but you are actually worried about me, and insist on escorting me to the hospital wing, and omg, after class you brought me soup from the great hall, i cannot ever tell you that i was faking it

“So we were having a _real_ conversation. Like, an actual, legitimate conversation with words and everything, not just me stuttering and rambling,” Monty explains as Clarke steers him down the corridor on the left, nodding her head as Monty continues to explain exactly why he was late meeting her for breakfast in the Great Hall, and exactly why they were currently rushing to History of Magic, one of the few classes the Slytherins and Ravenclaws even shared together.

“And I couldn’t just say ‘Hey Nate, you know, this is great and all, but I have to go write a paper.’ So, I didn’t. And we _talked_ , Clarke, for _hours_ , and it was _amazing_ ,” he sighs at what Clarke is sure was a fantastic moment for Monty. But right now, they’re going to be late if he doesn’t get his love-struck, exhausted self moving faster than her dragging him along is.

He huffs as she grabs a hold of his arm, directing him through a crowd of second-years.

“But then I had to go back to the common room after and write that damn paper on goblin riots for Pike. I went to bed _two hours ago_.” At this, Clarke stops in her tracks and whirls around to stare at him, causing Monty to walk right into her. “Hey Clarke, what the–”

Clarke doesn’t respond, too busy running through every assignment that needs to be done this week, knowing there’s no way she forgot an essay. Her planner would have reminded her when she opened it yesterday.

“Monty, that paper isn’t due for another week,” she tells him with a laugh, realizing he stayed up all night for nothing.

But Monty just stares at her.

“Clarke,” he says in the tone he only uses when trying to keep her calm, “Pike’s assignments are always due the first Friday of the month. It’s the sixth of May, and a Friday, the paper’s due today,” he tells her while eyeing her warily.

And if it was anyone else, anyone but Monty, Clarke would call them a liar, but she knows she’s been ridiculously busy lately with studying for her O.W.L.s and of course Pike would be one of the few professors still assigning homework at this point in the year. And she knows, she _knows_ she’s royally screwed up.

“Oh my god Monty,” she says while moving to grip his arm, dragging him to the side of the hall as she tries to maintain some semblance of calm. “ _Monty_. Oh my god! I forgot about the paper!” She yells at him as her grip only tightens to the point she sees him wince.

“Okay, ow, OW!” He exclaims while trying to pull away from her flustered form. Meanwhile, Clarke can feel herself beginning to panic. Cheeks burning, hands sweating, stomach tying in knots. History of Magic already isn’t her top class, and she needed this paper to give her a final boost to her grade.

“How the _hell_ did I forget about that paper!” She asks him, knowing completely well he doesn’t have the answer. “Oh my god, Pike’s going to fail me and it won’t matter how much I’ve studied the stupid International Confederation of Wizards or wand legislation or–”

She stops her rant as suddenly as it starts with a thought racing in her mind. She looks to Monty, who looks like he might run if she reaches for his arm again. “Please tell me you have your Skiving Snackbox with you,” she demands as she starts reaching for his bag.

He jerks back out of her reach, trying to look scandalized as he scans the crowd for professors. “What even– why would I own such a thing?” He asks in what she thinks is his attempt at sounding appalled.

Even if he hadn’t told her about his recent buy, him and Jasper are already making names for themselves at Hogwarts as the creators of knock-offs of the brand-name candies. She knows he has the originals, still trying to figure out the properties to some of the trickier ones.

So, Clarke gives him the most unimpressed look possible.

He lasts all of three seconds before rolling his eyes. “ _Fine_ ,” he admonishes as he slips his hand into the back pocket of his bag, pulling out a small, colored candy.

As she reaches for it, he pulls it out of her reach. Clarke looks up to glare at him, but he just stares back intently. “For the record,” he says matter-of-factly, “I think this is a bad idea. I’m sure he’d give you an extension.”

To that, Clarke merely rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah, I can totally see him doing that. Along with admitting he hates me because I call him out on his muggle-born bigotry.”

“Fair point,” Monty concedes, “though he does like Bellamy,” he adds as he drops the candy into her waiting hand.

“Everyone likes Bellamy,” she mutters stubbornly as Monty’s eyes spark with what looks like triumph.

“Right,” he nods, “everyone _except_ you.” She ignores the meaningful look he gives her.

For the rocky start she and Bellamy had, the terms they were on now worked just fine for her. Acquaintances, maybe even tentative friends. A whole lot of bickering, not much else. _Nothing_ else.

Having made his point, Monty points at the candy. “Puking Pastille.” At Clarke’s scrunched nose, he just shrugs. “Sorry, I’ve pretty much dissected everything else.”

Now knowing what it is, she examines it closer, half of it orange, half of it purple. “So, I just eat it?”

“The orange part,” Monty clarifies. “Eat the orange, you pretty much have insta-puke. Eat the purple, and you stop. Perfect to walk into class, puke out the breakfast you just ate, get dismissed from class, and get that paper done.”

She closes her own hand around it, gripping it tightly. “This is a terrible idea,” she says.

Monty nods his head with a smile. “Yep, this is simultaneously terrible and awesome. I never thought I’d see the day Clarke Griffin skipped a class, even an awful one with Pike.”

“Yeah, well desperate times call for desperate measures,” she tells him as they start towards the classroom again, Puking Pastille now in hand. When they’re almost there, she sneaks the bite of the orange, tucking what’s left into her robes. For something that’s supposed to make her nauseous, it has a pretty nice citrus-y taste.

“Well it’s not awful tasting,” she says as they make their way past the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors waiting to get into the Potions room. At her words, Monty whips his head to her, eyes wide.

“You didn’t eat it yet, did you?” He asks with more concern than she’s comfortable with.

She opens her mouth to respond, but immediately closes it with the awful clench that her stomach gives, one hand instantly going to her stomach, the other covering her mouth. “Holy crap Clarke! It’s _instant_ ,” he whispers urgently to her as she tries to focus on what he’s saying and not on the horrible waves her intestines are apparently doing. To make matters worse, not seconds later, she hears the last person she wants to see at the moment approaching.

“Princess, just the person we need to set the records straight,” she hears Bellamy say from behind her. But all she can see is the dread forming in Monty’s eyes as he sees her lose her battle with her stomach and intestines. “Can you please tell Miller here that–”

And as for what Bellamy had wanted Clarke to clarify, unfortunately or not, will never be known because as soon as she turns around to face the two Gryffindors, that little orange candy does its job in disposing all of the contents of her stomach across the hall where all of the fifth-year students are standing for History of Magic and Potions.

Thankfully, she avoids Miller and Bellamy by mere seconds, but the corridor isn’t so lucky. Her stomach churns and churns as everyone moves to give her room and to avoid the vomit. That is, everyone but Bellamy, who looks at her with alarm and immediately comes to her side to pull her hair out of her face.

“Holy shit Clarke, are you okay?” He asks with a concern that shakes her as much as the dry heaving she’s currently doing.

But she can’t speak through trying to catch her breath, and she’s truly starting to wonder if failing History of Magic wasn’t the better option. So Monty replies for her.

“Maybe she ate something bad at breakfast?” He says smoothly. Never let it be said that Monty Green could not lie his way through anything. “That pumpkin muffin she ate did look kind of funky looking. She said it tasted like oranges.” And though she’s currently hunched over, groaning through the pains reverberating in her body, she swears she can hear a smile in his voice. She whips her head up to glare at him fiercely.

But then she looks to Bellamy, and the concern in his brown eyes has only grown. “Oranges? What the hell, I ate one of them and it tasted fine. Did you eat anything else?” He asks, but then realizes as she groans that talking about food at the moment is not helping her whatsoever. “Shit. Alright,” he says while wrapping his arm around her to support her. “Miller, tell Sinclair that I’m taking Clarke to the hospital wing,” he orders as he starts to steer her in the right direction.

She tries to pull away, she really does. He does not need to be doing this. One bite of that purple candy and she’ll be as good as new. But every time she opens her mouth she starts to dry heave again, and it takes everything in her to stand upright, let alone try to fend off his support.

It doesn’t help to hear Monty chuckle as Bellamy practically carries her down the corridor.

Next time, she’ll take the failing grade.

Because this is absolutely mortifying.

* * *

“Mr. Blake, I assure you that I can take care of my own daughter,” Clarke hears her mother say as she wakes up in a haze. She looks around, only to notice that she’s laying in one of the patient beds in the hospital wing, Bellamy with his hands crossed on Clarke’s right, her mom with her hands on her hips on Clarke’s left.

She looks to see Bellamy’s curls tussled, a clear sign he’d been running his hand through them and her mom’s lips in a fine line.

“I get that Dr. Griffin, but one second she was fine, and the next she could barely breathe. She literally passed out coming here. What’s the matter with her?” He asks, and her chest tightens at the tone of his voice. Fear. Concern. For her?

But as she wakes up completely, the uncomfortable roll of her stomach tells her that the stupid candy isn’t done with her yet. She gasps out a breath before rolling over to the side of the bed and dry heaving for what feels like the hundredth time. Both her mom and Bellamy are at her side in a second. Her mom hands her a bucket as Bellamy rests his hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles.

And oh god, this just keeps getting worse.

“Clarke honey, what in the world did you eat?” Her mom asks after she’s calmed down again.

“Um,” Clarke says, exhausted as if she had been actually sick from something. “Oranges?”

At this, Bellamy looks at her confused. “You mean the muffin?”

Right.

“Yeah,” Clarke says tiredly, “must’ve been a bad muffin.”

Clarke’s mom runs her hands over her clammy face, seemingly satisfied that the only symptom is constant vomiting. “Did you get hit with a hex?”

At this, she can feel Bellamy tense beside her. She shakes her head.

“Well, nothing else seems to be wrong. No fever or anything, so I think it’ll pass in a few hours. You should go to class Mr. Blake, I’m sure you don’t want to miss with those O.W.L.s right around the corner. Thank you for bringing Clarke here, you’re efforts are appreciated.”

Clarke catches Bellamy’s scoff, his jaw tighten, but he schools his expression when he looks back at her mom. “Whatever you say Dr. Griffin,” he tells her as he pulls away from Clarke. He gives her hand a squeeze, a look on his face she’s never seen, before grabbing his bag from the ground and heading out the hospital wing doors.

She stares at the doors longer than she’d like to admit.

Her mom hands her a glass of water and smooths her hair out of her face. “Okay?” She asks, to which Clarke silently nods. She’s just as tired as she would be if she really was sick.

Clarke can feel the effects of the candy starting to wear off though, as her mom turns to tend to other patients. But just to be safe, she pulls the purple piece of the Puking Pastille out of her robes and pops it in her mouth.

The grape flavor makes her stomach roll over again.

She closes her eyes, willing the nausea away.

* * *

Clarke wakes what must be hours later, if the sunset is anything to judge by.

It takes her a moment to realize someone’s next to her bed. Someone hunched over a book.

“Bellamy,” she grumbles in a scratchy voice.

His head jerks up at his name, an unguarded smile gracing his face. It takes her by surprise, this side of Bellamy that’s rarely shown.

“Hey,” he whispers while scooting closer, “how are ya feeling?”

She takes a moment to actually assess how she’s feeling. And, she’s fine. Totally, perfectly fine.

“I feel good,” she tells him, which leads him to sigh in relief.

He goes to bend down beside where he’s sitting, pulling a bag from the ground and plopping it on the bed beside her. “Good, cause I brought you some soup.”

For a moment, Clarke just stares. At him. At the bag. At what in the world is currently happening. Staring for so long, that Bellamy’s calm exterior starts to falter. “Soup?” She asks dumbly. “You brought me soup?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers uncertainly. “Three kinds actually,” he chuckles nervously.

Instead of looking at her, he pulls out three to-go containers, presumably filled with soup. “I, uh, didn’t know which kind you liked? So I got pumpkin, but then I remembered the whole pumpkin muffin thing. So then I got onion, but I thought that if you’re still nauseous, that might be too strong. So then I figured good old muggle-style chicken noodle would work if the other two didn’t.” He rambles on and Clarke can’t help but feel… shocked? Touched?

She doesn’t really know what to say, so instead she focuses on the logistics. “Where’d you get to-go containers?”

“What?” He asks surprised, staring at the containers.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says with a laugh, “we’re at Hogwarts. We don’t have to-go containers.”

At realizing what she’s asking, he laughs too. A bright, startled sound. “Oh those. I bring a ton of them back from my Gram’s restaurant when I visit home. I don’t know what this school has against take-out, but Miller and I smuggle food out of the Great Hall all the time,” he explains, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say his ears are turning pink.

“Well,” she says picking up a spoon from the bag and grabbing the chicken noodle, “this was very nice of you.”

So, _so_ nice. When she’s not even sick. Cause she’s faking it. And he doesn’t even need to be worried.

She’s going to rot in hell.

But the smile he gives her is small and genuine, and she can’t help the smile she gives back.

“Just eat your soup Griffin, you need to get some fluids in your body,” he mutters grumpily, though the glint in his eyes ruins the effect.

“You got it Blake,” she says through a mouthful of noodles.

And yeah, Bellamy Blake will never find out she was faking it.

* * *

The next day, Clarke plans on spending her Saturday writing a paper on the goblin riots.

She’s sitting in the library, trying not to fall asleep, when someone places a Skiving Snackbox on top of the book she’s trying to read. Alarmed, she looks up to see Bellamy smirking down at her.

“So,” he starts, “you’ll never guess the story that Monty told Miller.”

His smirk holds for another second before a smile takes over his face.

All Clarke can do is mentally curse Monty, very colorfully, and hope by some magical power that he can hear her.

But that comes to a halt when Bellamy slides into the seat next to her, closing her book and taking her hand. He tugs on it until her eyes meet his.

“Next time you're faking sick, tell me first, so I don’t flip out when you pass out,” he says so earnestly guilt tugs at her.

But he squeezes her hand again, telling her it’s okay. “You just thought you were next because you had eaten one of those muffins,” she teases, aiming to get another smile from him.

She gets it. And a roll of the eyes.

“Or you can just let me help you with the damn paper next time. Come on Griffin, own up to your faults.”

She shoves his shoulder as he begins to laugh, all happy and carefree. It’s a good look on him.

She wants to see a whole lot more of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt me [on tumblr](http://andthelightbulbclicks.tumblr.com/ask) if you want :)  
> More from this universe [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9135352).


	2. part+part=whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: we're both sick and we both grabbed for the last can of soup at the store au

Clarke is a good roommate.

Scratch that, she’s an _awesome_ roommate.

Sure, her room looks like a clothing bomb went off and sometimes she’ll accidentally leave traces of paint across various surfaces in the apartment, but she’s good at the things that count. Like taking care of her roommate when she’s sick.

Octavia had something one step away from being the full-out flu, and Clarke (being Clarke), was there to take care of Octavia in her time of need, coughs and sniffles and all. She made sure Octavia was always wrapped in a three-layer blanket burrito, had Parks and Rec streaming continuously on Netflix, and bought a bulk container of two-ply tissue boxes.

 _And_ she dealt with her roommate’s overbearing, know-it-all, totally-not-endearing-whatsoever brother throughout the whole ordeal.

Because Bellamy (being Bellamy), was not going to sit on the sidelines while his baby sister was anything less than ready to climb a mountain at a moment’s notice.

Which, coincidentally, is where Octavia is right now.

Octavia is climbing some mountain with Lincoln out west, since she was in tip-top shape after being watched over diligently by her roommate and big brother a week ago.

Clarke works very hard to push down the part of her that always tries to point out how well she and Bellamy work together when they aren’t arguing.

And Clarke?

Well, Clarke now has said “one step away from being the full-out flu” flu, with no roommate or big brother to take care of her.

She tried wrapping herself in a blanket burrito this morning, and nearly gave herself a black eye when she rolled right off of the couch. And Octavia went through the entire industrial-sized box of the two-ply tissues in the two-day span of her illness, leaving none for Clarke, who has resorted to the lone toilet paper roll they have left in the apartment. She might as well be using sandpaper.

And, really, Clarke knows that if Octavia was given even the slightest hint that Clarke had caught what she had, Octavia would have cancelled her trip in a heartbeat to take care of her. But Clarke knows how much Octavia was looking forward to some time away with Lincoln, part of the reason why she and Bellamy worked so hard to get her back to her functioning-self before she was forced to cancel the trip.

Clarke couldn’t take that away from her.

So, the only thing Clarke really has going for her right now is that she still has one more season of Parks and Rec to get through once she gets home.

That, and the last can of chicken noodle soup that’s on the shelf in front of her at the grocery store is two seconds away from being in her grasp. She’s just coherent enough to feel brief triumph that she’ll have something for dinner that could possibly make her feel even the slightest bit better.

She’s putting it in her basket when a very familiar, very congested voice breaks through her feverish-haze.

“Put the soup back, Griffin,” Bellamy wheezes out, “I call dibs.”

Clarke pauses, soup in hand, and turns towards him slowly. She hopes it looks like it’s for dramatic effect and not because if she moves too quickly she’ll get dizzy.

One glance at Bellamy makes her snort instead, which still ends up making her dizzy.

“You look like shit,” she tells him as she observes the pallor color of his skin and the sweat beading on his forehead. She bets that if she placed her hand to his head, he’d be hot to the touch. “Which has apparently reverted you to a ten-year-old. Dibs? Really? Aren’t you the one who argued with me for an hour last week about how much salt is in canned soup? You refused to let you sister eat it.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” The smirk he gives her shouldn’t do anything, being he really does look awful, but there her stomach goes, still doing a little swoop. He takes her in, ignoring her other remarks. “O know she got you sick?”

“No,” she bristles. “Does she know she got _you_ sick?”

He scoffs the best he can before breaking out into a cough, answer enough. “She’s been looking forward to the Rockies for months.” _And I’m not her responsibility_ , is left unspoken. Typical Bellamy.

And well, that just makes her mad, because what the hell is he doing here in this kind of condition? He looks like he can barely stand.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you, Princess,” he says, looking extremely unimpressed. She must be more feverish than she initially thought if she’s thinking out loud.

Bellamy gives her a roll of his eyes before walking past her, heading towards the next aisle. “Come on, if we’re both this sick, we might as well eat something better than high-sodium concentrated soup.”

Clarke glances into her grocery basket, empty aside from the can of soup, and then reaches to put it back on the shelf before shuffling after Bellamy, her curiosity getting the better of her.

* * *

“What makes you think we’ll be able to cook soup when neither of us can stand for too long without feeling like they’re going to faint?” She asks him once they’re back at her and Octavia’s place.

“Well,” he starts, stopping to cough, “I’m barely human right now, and you’re barely human right now, so we have to at least make up one complete human at this point, right?”

They made it to the apartment, which is a miracle in itself. She’s honestly not sure how they both walked to the grocery store in the first place, and then made it back to the apartment with groceries in hand. But they did, whether it be because they have the capabilities of one complete human right now or not.

Bellamy had proposed homemade soup. Which, while hearing him say it at the grocery store, had quite literally made her mouth water. He had made his signature chicken noodle soup last week for Octavia, and Clarke had eaten more than her fair share of it.

Standing in her kitchen, however, is a whole other story. She glances at Bellamy, who has been trying to lay out the ingredients onto the counter. She doesn’t understand the worry written across his face until she realizes he’s starting to go horizontal in her vision.

“ _Woah_ , Clarke,” he says as he reaches out for her, but he’s just as weak, so they end up on the kitchen floor in a jumbled mess of clammy skin and shaky limbs. Bellamy ends up leaning his head back against the cabinets as Clarke rests her head onto the cool tiles on the ground, willing the dizziness away.

“Clarke,” Bellamy sighs, prodding at her side with his foot feebly.

“What,” she mumbles into the ground, sure she’s incoherent.

“Take-out?”

She has just enough energy to yank the magnet holding the take-out menus off of the fridge, letting colorful pamphlets litter the floor around, and on, them. “Take your pick,” she murmurs before closing her eyes, falling asleep as she listens to him shift through the menus.

* * *

She wakes to the feeling of being lifted up, and then instantly being dropped back down onto the cold ground. Not hard, but enough to feel her stomach drop like on a roller coaster.

Needless to say, it wakes her up immediately, eyes opening to find Bellamy bent over her, one arm under her legs, the other loose around her back.

She’s still on the kitchen floor, but, if she wasn’t mistaken–

“Were you just trying to _carry me_?” She asks incredulously.

Bellamy huffs, “Key word ‘try.’ You looked comfy and I didn’t want to wake you.” And she’s pretty sure the color on his cheeks isn’t just from a fever. She may be semi-delirious, but she’s pretty certain she’s processing this right. He tried to carry her, when he’s most definitely too weak to barely hold himself up, just so she could sleep. _Typical_ Bellamy.

“Yeah, my kitchen floor is the place to sleep,” she jokes as she shifts to grab onto him to help pull herself into a standing position, trying and failing to ignore their proximity. She’s sick and delirious, but she’s not delusional. She nearly topples him over in the process, but they’re both eventually standing. Swaying a bit, but definitely vertical.

“Food’s here,” he tells her as they head toward the couch.

She looks up at him, surprised. “You actually were coherent enough to order food?”

His answering chuckle warms her already feverish insides. “Well I remember saying ‘we need soup’ and your address. God only knows what’s actually in the bag. Or what I actually paid them,” he adds thoughtfully. “I must’ve looked pitiful.”

She feels herself laugh, which progressively turns into a coughing fit, Bellamy coming over to rub her back gently through it. Her focus hones in on his hand on her back, instead of the burning in her chest. Which, _dear lord_ , now is not the time for this.

Once she calms down again from the coughing, she falls back onto the couch, pulling Bellamy with her and trying to act normal.

She glances over at Bellamy, whose eyes are already on her. She bumps his shoulder with hers before reaching for the containers he had put on the coffee table.

“Let’s see what delirious-Bellamy got us to eat.”

* * *

Soup, obviously. Chicken noodle (thankfully).

Bread.

And a chocolate chip cookie.

“Not bad,” Clarke grants once she’s munching on her half of the cookie. Eating the last bite and then licking the chocolate off of her fingers.

Bellamy’s eyes are definitely on her hands, possibly her mouth. She tries not to look too much into it.

“Not bad for what,” Bellamy retorts, voice a shade off. And this time, she’s not entirely sure it’s just from him being sick. “Ordering while sounding deranged?”

Clarke pauses for a moment, pondering where to take the conversation. “Taking care us.”

She can see Bellamy side-eyeing her out of the corner of her eye, but she’s too tired to have the conversation they probably should. Not brave enough just yet. So instead, she leans into him, wrapping her arms around him as she feels him tense.

She prays she’s not making a fool of herself.

Then, as if she had imagined it, the tension disappears as he relaxes into her arms. She hides her smile in his shoulder as he shifts them so they’re both laying on the couch, clammy skin and shaky limbs wrapped up in each other. She grabs one of her blankets on the floor from the morning and throws it over them for good measure.

They definitely need to talk, just, later. When her head doesn’t feel like it’s stuffed with cotton balls.

“Cuddling can alleviate flu symptoms,” Clarke mumbles as she feels sleep start to tug her under.

She can feel Bellamy’s chest rumble in response. “I’m pretty sure you’re fever-crazy right now, Clarke. But, you did get through more of med school than I did, so I’ll take your word for it,” he teases, nuzzling into her shoulder as he drifts off.

She follows right after.

* * *

She wakes up the next morning feeling like she’s melting.

She’s hot, she’s sweaty, she’s in a blanket burrito, and she’s being spooned by a literal furnace.

“Hmph,” is all that comes out on her first attempt to talk. “Bell,” she tries again, wiggling a little in his grasp to try and wake him. She’s sure if she actually saw his face, she’d feel guilty for trying to disrupt his sleep. But she’s breaking out in such a sweat right now she’s surprised that hasn’t woken him up on its own.

Somehow, she manages to twist so that she’s turned towards him, so she gets to watch the gift that is Bellamy Blake waking up in the morning. His eyes scrunch together as he takes a deep breath in, and then open, finding her immediately.

“Mornin’,” he grumbles, closing his eyes and pulling her closer. She gives herself two seconds to appreciate his strong arms wrapped around her before restarting her wiggling efforts to break away.

“Bellamy, you need to let go, I’m drenched in sweat,” she argues as his grip remains firm. At that, he does loosen his hold, which allows her to roll off of the couch to sit on the ground next to him, appreciating the cool air on her skin and that she doesn’t completely feel like she’s dying anymore.

She’s weak, definitely needs another day to recover, but she can feel the end of this flu is near for her.

“How are you feeling?” She asks him, not realizing her hand has reached up to thread through his hair until he sighs contentedly. And then well, she can’t just s _top_.

It takes him a second to respond, but when he does, his voice is by far stronger and clearer than yesterday. “Okay,” he tells her. “Kind of drained, but definitely on the mend.”

He reaches up to take her hand that’s been working its way through his curls, holding it between them. “Thanks for letting me crash on your couch.”

She can’t help the smile she gives him, looking down at their hands. Instead of letting go, she threads their fingers together and holds on tighter. “Thanks for keeping me alive last night.”

“You didn’t make it easy,” he tells her with a smirk. “You can fall asleep literally anywhere, which, we should have a conversation about at some point. I’m sure you have a bed that’s way comfier than you kitchen floor.”

She snorts, which surprisingly brings a smile to his face. She thinks briefly of making a smart remark back, but really, she thinks she’d rather just _talk_ to him and have that conversation she vaguely remembers wanting to have the night before. And, she likes his smile _a lot._

“I’d kiss you if you weren’t all booger-y,” is what she ultimately comes up with. Which, classy Griffin. Smooth.

But his response is immediate, calming her before any nerves can shoot through her. His smile is bright as he lets go of her hand to wrap his freed hand around the back of her neck. “I’m still going to kiss you even though you’re sweaty and gross,” he counters before brushing his lips gently against hers and pulling back. Too quickly for her liking if she’s being honest.

Still, she’s sure her smile is just as bright as she looks at him. “Do you think kissing will get us sick again?” She really, really wants to kiss him again.

“Do you really want to chance getting whatever we had again?”

She does actually give it a moment’s thought. She _really_ wants to kiss him.

“We’ve got time, right?” She asks him, realizing what she’s implying. _This isn’t just for today, right?_

She watches as he sits up and throws a blanket at her lightly. “Yeah Clarke,” he assures her, his voice definitely fond. “We’ve got all the time you want.”

He doesn’t look at her as he says that last part, which tells her he is aware of what he’s implying too. He stands up and reaches a hand out to her, pulling her up. He’s definitely stronger than he was yesterday.

“Let’s go make my chicken noodle soup. I’m still not letting you eat the canned stuff,” he says, dragging her towards the kitchen even though she’s going to be next to useless, watching him do most of the work. He delegates her to carrot cutting as he starts to cook the chicken, his back to her. She allows herself to admire him, hair ruffled, muscles moving beneath his shirt. He’s sniffling a little from the steam he’s standing over, but still, exactly what she wants.

“All of it,” she hears herself saying.

“Hm?” He asks, turning towards her.

“I want all of the time,” she says, continuing to cut the carrots, eyes on what she’s doing. “I want _you_ all of the time you want to give me,” she clarifies.

God, she’s so bad at this.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, aside from the sounds of their cooking.

Then she hears Bellamy moving towards her until she feels his arms wrap around her from behind, and the feeling she didn’t even realize was settling in her stomach subsides. “I want that too,” he tells her quietly, chin propping on her shoulder.

“Good,” she says, and he can definitely hear the smile in her voice. She probably looks ridiculous. “Soup?”

He chuckles against her back, placing a kiss against her cheek before pulling away to head back to his station near the oven. “Yeah Clarke, you’ll get your soup.”

“ _And_ you?” She can’t help herself from asking, for no other reason than she wants to hear him say it again.

“Yeah, you’ve got me too,” he replies fondly.

She’s totally blushing, this time not from fever, because he’s got her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *prays that the rest of S4 goes as well as the first episode*


End file.
